


The Coming of Spring

by ingberry



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Bottoming from the Top, Canon Era, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Pining, Pining Arthur, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingberry/pseuds/ingberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kings, even new ones, were not supposed to long for their menservants. They shouldn't let their eyes linger on their wrists, the plump of their lips, or the shape of their thighs. Arthur knew this, but he still wanted. There was nothing about Merlin he didn't want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coming of Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merlocked18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlocked18/gifts).



> **Note:** This fic takes place sometime after Gwen's banishment from Camelot.
> 
> It's been a pleasure to glomp you, merlocked18, and I really hope you enjoy it. ;) I haven't written canon since that very first fic I wrote in fandom, so it's been a fun challenge!
> 
> Many, many thanks to emjayelle and alby-mangroves for the invaluable help and their beta skills! Thanks also to claudine for her input and giselleslash for her excellent cheerleading. Thank you to the mods for organising the fun for us :D

“Well, it _is_ a tournament in your honour.”

Arthur circled his wrist to stretch it. It ached from the training session he’d had with his knights earlier in the day. The ache even surpassed that of his pride. 

“If it was truly in my honour they would let me fight in it,” he said, and followed the steady movements of Merlin’s hands as they brushed down the blade of his sword. 

Merlin looked up, his lips quirked at the corner. “You’re not a prince anymore. No one’s going to let you dally about with sharp objects for your own amusement.”

“Oh please, Merlin, I could bring them to their knees with one arm tied behind my back.”

“I don’t know about that.” Merlin’s eyes dropped to Arthur’s hand. “Your hand rather seems to disagree.”

“A moment’s distraction,” Arthur said, not mentioning what had caused the slip that let Gwaine knock the sword from his hand. 

His eyebrows pulled together as he glanced at the dancing fire in the hearth, and Merlin laughed brightly. 

“Is Gwaine’s crowing victory weighing on your mind?”

“It was hardly a victory, Merlin. More like a happy accident. But I’ll grant him that with no ill feelings.”

Merlin hummed as he turned the sword over, resting it on his knee. The log crackled under the flames and Arthur’s room felt warmer than it had in months. 

“It’s been a long winter,” Merlin said. “Let the people have their amusements.”

It was true that winter had been rough. It had only just let go, uncurling its sharp, unforgiving claws. Arthur knew that the people of Camelot called it “The Winter of the King’s Grief” and he had let them, never addressing their misgivings. The maids spoke of Guinevere, who had respected his wishes and not returned to Camelot, and the people in the square talked about his father. 

He didn’t much care if his people felt the need to blame him. If blaming him had helped them to deal with the cold that never seemed let go, then so be it. In truth, they assigned him many sorrows he didn’t carry. He missed Guinevere, but more as the steady friend and confidant she had been, and he missed his father. But their absence also brought him relief. 

“Fine.” Arthur waved his hand. “If the people so dearly want a tournament, they may have one.”

Merlin snorted, and put the sword aside, now polished and gleaming in the light from the fire. “You make it sound like torture.”

“Might as well be if I have to sit idly by.”

“I’ll take you hunting one day when the weather improves,” Merlin said. “You’ll feel better.”

“I’m not your hunting dog, Merlin. You don’t need to take me out for fresh air.”

Merlin’s face split into a wide smile before he laughed. His eyes narrowed into slits and the muscles in his throat worked under his skin. 

Resting his elbow on the armrest, Arthur pressed his cheek to his knuckles, his eyes following the movements of Merlin’s laughter. It wasn’t just his face, but his whole body: the shaking shoulders, his fingers curling slightly, and the way he hunched over just a little. 

“Judging by the way you’ve been moaning about this tournament, I do think I need to take you out for fresh air now and again. You get so grumpy when we have to keep you inside.”

The paradox of being king was quite astounding. Arthur made the ultimate decisions as the leader of the land. And yet, he had been robbed of so much freedom. If he were not king, no one would stop him from entering the tournament or taking off into the forest on his own with no care for his protection.

If he were not king, no one would care if he lived out the rest of his days with an insolent servant from the villages. 

But then, if he were not king he might not actually have known the insolent servant in question at all. That was the circle he always got stuck in, repeating over and over again with no way out. 

“It’ll be good for everyone to focus on something else,” Merlin said, his face soft and familiar, tinged with the golden light of fire. “Don’t ask me why, but people seem to enjoy watching nobility hitting each other with swords.”

Arthur knew he would let the tournament run its course without him in it, because in the end he would do what his people needed of him. Besides, he always did seem to end up following Merlin’s advice.

***

“Sire, they’re waiting.”

Arthur straightened his cloak as best he could. Of course, Merlin had taken off to find his spot by the other servants in the stands because he had suddenly taken an interest in the proceedings now that Arthur wasn’t fighting. 

“Certainly you jest, Leon,” he said, drily.

“They can’t very well start without the king.”

“Of course. The king is an integral part of the tournament, sitting on his throne as he brings his lambs to slaughter.” 

Leon raised an eyebrow at him. “We weren’t quite planning to slaughter anyone. We hope Your Majesty won’t be disappointed.”

Arthur curled his hand around the phantom hilt of the sword that wasn’t there. His hand felt empty without it, as if it no longer knew its purpose. Had his father enjoyed watching tournaments, or had he too felt the prickling loss in his hands? 

The crowd was alive when he stepped out to take his seat of honour, flanked by those of his knights who were not fighting. The buzzing sound of their combined voices pressed in around him, pushing the crowds even closer. They roared together like a living beast, rising up to greet the participants. 

Arthur rose, and the crowd fell to a hush that was unnatural in the wake of the noise. 

“Fight for Camelot,” he said to answering roars. He waited for them to subdue, looking at each of the fighters with significance. “Fight for glory.” 

The crowd went off once again and he held his hand up, smiling slightly at how quickly it calmed. “And fight for the best seat at the feast.”

Laughter filled the arena interspersed with clapping, and he sat down, curling his fingers over the edges of the armrests. As the fighting began, turning the crowd into a pulsing entity of excitement, Arthur leaned back and let his focus slip. He glanced at the tents where the other participants waited, remembering the way Merlin would fuss about him before Arthur took his place in the arena. 

As a gasp went through the crowd, Arthur’s attention snapped back to the match, seeing one of them with his sword held high and the other cursing into the ground. Arthur knew neither of them by name, and found he could barely muster a single care for who’d come out victorious. 

There was still a slight nip in the air that chilled his cheeks, and the grass was only the palest of greens between the brown. And he knew, then, as the fights continued in a fluid motion in front of him, crowning victors and losers, that Merlin was right. Camelot was heating up, loosening from the hold of the cold, coming more and more alive with every push and pull of the crowd. 

In the end, it was two of his knights facing each other in the final fight of the day. Arthur sat up straighter, knowing that his approval and interest was needed. And he applauded them both as Gwaine triumphed over Percival, allowing himself a smile as Gwaine glanced in his direction with his sword held high. 

Arthur nodded, ever so slightly, and Gwaine seemed to brush off his acknowledgement, but was quite unable to hold back his satisfied grin. Out of all his men, Arthur thought Gwaine craved his approval most of all, despite his loud claims to the opposite. 

As Gwaine moved towards the cheering audience, his eyes gleaming and his cheeks red with exhaustion, Arthur’s gaze followed him. It was then he saw Merlin elbow his way through the crowds and reach out to put his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. His expression was so truly excited, his smile wide as Gwaine leaned in to say something in his ear. 

Not for the first time, Arthur put himself in the shoes of the fighter and the victor, but this time it was for an entirely different reason.

***

Merlin was a ridiculous drunk. He became so loose-limbed that he resembled a wounded deer as he moved about. Although he did seem to have more control than it appeared, it was still stupidly endearing in ways that Arthur couldn’t explain when Merlin tried to arrange various limbs into something that resembled normal posture.

Arthur liked to keep drunk Merlin to himself and that always made feasts where Merlin had access to the drink a little bit torturous. There was something about Merlin’s loss of control that made Arthur possessive of those moments, wanting to keep them close and out of sight. 

He had a strategy for this. For one, he always had Merlin work during feasts, but then benevolently slipped him wineskins that they consumed in private later on. Secondly, he conveniently ignored Merlin’s frequent trips to the tavern. 

The same plan was in effect this night, and when Arthur returned to his rooms, Merlin was already there. He sat with his back to the foot of Arthur’s bed, knees bent, and looked up when Arthur pushed the door open. He was barefoot and his neckerchief was loose around his neck. 

“Finally,” Merlin said, picking up the wineskin from his lap. “Thought the knights might have stolen you.”

“As king, I can’t very well be the first one to leave.” Arthur reached up to unfasten the cloak of his ceremonial attire. “Besides, I had to make sure Gwaine got back to his rooms, preferably alone.”

Merlin got to his feet, stepped towards him and batted his hands away to unfasten the buckle of his cloak. “Poor Gwaine, foiled by the king.”

“You know he always just regrets it.”

“He really does have terrible taste when he gets some drink in him.”

Fingers brushed his neck as Merlin finally unfastened the cloak and slid it from his shoulders. The closeness of them was familiar like this, but always excruciating in a sense. He could count Merlin’s eyelashes, if he wanted to, as Merlin cast his eyes downward when he fiddled with Arthur’s belt in order to get his chainmail off. Merlin had clearly started drinking without him. There was a flush on his cheeks that Arthur recognised immediately. But he was still oddly efficient as he removed the belt, and put it aside. 

Merlin’s eyes darted upwards, before meeting Arthur’s again. “May I?” 

Arthur hummed in reply, knowing Merlin’s question was only perfunctory, and stood still as Merlin reached up to pick the crown from his head. It was lifted with care, and Merlin’s expression twisted in concentration. His lips pressed together in a flat line, and his nose scrunched up just slightly. 

The proximity of Merlin was gone when he moved to place the crown onto Arthur’s desk, and Arthur’s breath evened out steadily as the space between them increased. Some of the pliant looseness had appeared in Merlin’s movements, and Arthur followed the stretch of his back with his eyes until Merlin turned back around. 

Merlin’s hands were light and efficient when they helped him out of his chainmail. It slid over his back easily even in its heaviness.

He rolled his shoulders a little, stretching, as Merlin put away the chainmail. The wineskin was discarded on the floor where Merlin had been sitting and he picked it up, taking a good sip from it. He climbed up on the foot of the bed, sitting cross-legged with the wineskin resting between his thighs as he watched Merlin put away his things. 

“Leave it,” Arthur said, his patience stretched thin. 

There had been too much time spent already, where neither of them was drinking, and that flush on Merlin’s cheeks hadn’t spread at all. Arthur had been waiting for this too long already, as the last proper feast they had was so long ago he could barely remember. 

“You’re not a man for waiting, are you?” Merlin asked, clearly implying the answer to his question with an impish smile. 

Settling down next to him, Merlin reached over and picked the wineskin from between his legs. 

“Didn’t you have any?” Merlin tipped it against his lips. “I’ve been trying to save some for you.”

“I managed a sip. Before you took it.”

Arthur didn’t even want it back. He just wanted to watch Merlin dissolve into strange little giggles as the flush spread down the pale skin of his neck, his hair standing up at odd angles. And he wanted Merlin’s lips to spread into a wide, unrestrained smile while he edged closer as the night wore on. 

These were moments he kept close to his heart, and Merlin would probably have thought him a complete imbecile if he knew, but they were one of the few things that were theirs alone. On his bed, with Merlin laughing and drinking, teasing him, there was only them. With his chainmail gone, the heavy night fallen over Camelot to leave only the soft light of his chambers, their ranks seemed stripped. 

In moments like these he could pretend that they were uncomplicated: that there were no discernable differences between kings and servants. And maybe it truly wasn’t, when the servant was sitting cross-legged on the king’s bed with his sinful, red mouth curling around slurred words. 

“You were so tense up on that seat today,” Merlin said, brushing wine away from his lips with the back of his hand. “Never knew anyone could look so miserable just sitting there.”

His lips glistened with moisture: bright red and inviting. Arthur imagined leaning in, just a little, to lick the wine from his mouth. He’d run his tongue along Merlin’s bottom lip before pressing his mouth to the upper one in a soft, barely-there kiss. 

Arthur’s head swam, the effects of the wine spreading to the tip of his fingers that seemed to prickle. “Forget the damn tournament.”

“It’s odd seeing you in Uther’s place,” Merlin said, his eyes much too earnest. 

“It’s odd being in it.” 

“You fill it differently.”

It was such a small thing. It was hardly the nicest compliment Arthur had ever received, but for some reason it made his heart warm. Not long ago, he would have taken it as a slight, but not anymore. 

“Besides,” Merlin said, eyes bright, “Gwaine seems to be taking your place in tournaments just fine.”

Arthur hit him upside the head, and Merlin slipped sideways until he was lying down, laughing into the bed. His hair was messy against the cover, and Arthur tried not to look and let his thoughts run away with him. 

Merlin seemed to settle, his arms slung out in front of him as he curled up on his side. 

“Spring will be nice,” he said, eyes closed. “My room will be warm again.”

Arthur swallowed back the familiar stab of guilt, forcing himself not to offer his rooms for Merlin’s comfort. And for his own. 

“We’ll get visitors again, though,” Arthur said, prying the wineskin from Merlin’s grip. “It’s been a blessing not to have them trample down our doors with their treaties and their insincere compliments.”

Merlin laughed, tongue coming out to lick his lips. 

“And I thought you loved those. Being centre of attention.”

“Idiot.”

“So you keep telling me.”

He tried. He really did. But it was impossible to keep his mind from going there when Merlin was on his bed, stretched out like this, his face so relaxed and open. Arthur saw himself waking in the morning next to Merlin’s sleep-warm body, Merlin’s eyes fluttering open with a lazy smile. 

It took a moment before he realised that Merlin was really asleep. His lips had parted, and his breath deepened. It was a long time since he’d seen Merlin sleep. They hadn’t been out on patrols or done any hunting during winter, and he’d missed it. It gave him the chance to drink his fill of the sight, to let his eyes linger where they couldn’t when Merlin was awake and aware. 

He followed the pale column of Merlin’s neck with his eyes, pausing at the spot where he could see Merlin’s heartbeat, just barely visible. Sucking in a breath, he wondered how it would feel against his tongue, beating a perfect rhythm, speeding up under his touch. 

The overwhelming need to feel Merlin under his lips; under his hands; under his tongue, was becoming more and more difficult to push back. He was rapidly running out of reasons to not do anything about his desires. If he could have this, would the rest matter? 

And yet, he knew that he was the king of Camelot, and he had responsibilities. 

Taking a good sip of the wineskin, he let himself look and look, until the temptation became too much to bear. He reached out a hand, starting a little as his fingertips touched Merlin’s warm skin. It was soft to the touch as he curled his fingers around Merlin’s ankle.

Arthur closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his thumb brushing little patterns over Merlin’s skin. 

He only gave himself a moment before the feeling of overstepping his boundaries became too much. Pulling back, he put the wineskin away and spread out over the bed, convincing himself that it would be ridiculous to wake Merlin only to send him to his own rooms.

***

“Sit still,” Merlin said, pressing a hand to his head.

Arthur bent his head to get out of the grip, grunting at the slight jolt in his shoulder. 

“I told you to sit still.”

Chaos reigned around them, the dust of broken stone settled over the throne room. Mere steps away, Gaius was tending to Leon whose leg was bent at a strange angle. Arthur couldn’t fathom that his insignificant scratch would be of enough concern to have Merlin fussing over him, but Merlin proved impossible to turn away. 

“Gwaine’s checking if anyone else was injured,” Merlin only said when Arthur tried to protest. “He’ll call me if I’m needed.”

And so Arthur let Merlin’s sure hands press into the wound in his shoulder where he sat in the middle of the throne room, feeling oddly shaken apart at the unexpected attack on the inner parts of his castle. 

“Sire.” He looked up to find Percival standing over him, a shallow cut marring his cheek. “There was no sign of anyone. Whoever they were, they‘re long gone.”

Arthur wanted to smash his fist through the ground. If they knew how to get in once, they would know how to get in again. He was temporarily distracted from his anger by the warmth of Merlin’s fingertips at the nape of his neck. An involuntary shiver went down his back and he could only hope Merlin thought he was cold. 

“We won’t let her take it,” Merlin said, voice quiet, and Arthur pursed his lips. 

He hung his head and let the steady movement of Merlin cleaning his wound lull him into an odd sort of rhythm. 

Of course he knew it was Morgana. There was likely no one else who would know where to hit him the hardest – or, rather, where to hit the structure of Camelot the hardest. Maybe that would have been the quickest way to hurt Arthur too, once, but he could only hope that Morgana didn’t know where to truly strike. 

He knew she would, though. She’d always known where to place her blows, even when they were children.

“Be careful,” he said, voice a little brittle. He coughed, embarrassed. 

“About what?”

“Just be,” he snapped, feeling raw and exposed. “Morgana knows… she knows where… she knows us, she knows the castle, she knows that servants are much more important than they’re perceived.”

There was no time for Merlin to answer. Gaius beckoned him over to Leon, and Merlin left him with an apologetic glance. He passed Arthur the piece of cloth he’d used to clean the wound, and Arthur closed his fist around it. 

As he watched Merlin tend to Leon with steady hands, even as his expression was tense with worry, Arthur knew that Merlin would be the obvious target to anyone who knew him well. He had misplaced his affections, and Merlin was in danger because of it. 

His father had been wrong about many things, and there were many words of advice that Arthur had long since discarded, but the way his father had always spoken about his mother was something Arthur had kept close. He’d always known what love was, he thought, because of the stories, because of his father’s face when he mentioned his mother, because of his grief. 

And yet, he hadn’t really recognised it until now, as he watched the muscles shift in Merlin’s back and could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers – as well as the numbing fear that Morgana might know where her attack would hurt the most. 

The worst was that he couldn’t even regret it.

***

“You don’t get to complain,” Arthur said, enjoying the familiar trot of his horse under him.

Merlin rode ahead, his back stiff and his shoulders tense. It had been too long since he’d taken Merlin out riding, and he’d clearly forgotten how to follow the natural movements of a horse. 

“When have I ever?” Merlin said, ducking down to avoid a branch. 

Arthur snorted. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, Merlin.” 

“I’d never. I’m having a grand old time shooting defenceless animals and riding my backside sore.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur didn’t answer. Instead, he tilted his head upwards towards the sun that sometimes pierced through the foliage, enjoying the relative silence of the forest around them. There had been a never-ending string of visiting delegations from kingdoms that he cared about to wildly varying degrees. They were still waiting for Morgana to regroup and try again. Merlin had gone drinking with Gwaine. 

And granted, that last one shouldn’t matter quite as much as the rest, but somehow it mattered more. Because, in a few matters, Arthur was a selfish man. 

“I’m really not complaining, you know that, right?” 

Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin, finding him turned around as much as possible on a moving horse. Arthur just shook his head. 

“I mean, I won’t pretend the whole hunting thing is something I enjoy, but it’s nice out here. And quiet. And you deserve some time for yourself.”

“Very generous of you,” Arthur said. 

Merlin turned around again, but Arthur could see his head shake. 

He wondered, sometimes, if Merlin followed him out on these little trips because he felt that he owed it to Arthur – that Arthur deserved it, or if he enjoyed them too. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “We can stop hunting. I don’t… We can…” He trailed off into silence.

“Really? No, we don’t need to do that. You like hunting.”

“But you don’t.”

“But we’re out here for you.”

Arthur wanted to stop and turn around. It was petty, and it was stupid, because of course they went into the woods and shot at animals with minimal success because he needed the break. But he didn’t want it to be something Merlin did because he had to. 

“Arthur?” 

“Let’s just ride.”

Silence settled over them as they followed the path, Merlin leading them. Arthur watched the back of his neck as calm settled over him, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He cleared his head of thoughts and let the steady trot lull him into a near sleep. 

After a long stretch of riding in silence, the landscape opened up and the trees grew sparser. The sun blinded him as a slight breeze moved over the clearing and he squinted against it, bringing his hand up to shield his eyes. The clearing was small and green, resting on the bed of a river. The water sparkled in the brilliant sunlight. 

Arthur caught a glimpse of Merlin’s face as he turned around, his heart lurching at the sight of his wide smile. Merlin looked out over the river, his horse coming to a slow stop, and Arthur stopped too. 

“What do you want to do?” Arthur asked. 

Seemingly surprised to hear Arthur speak, Merlin jolted a little. He turned around, his eyebrow raised. 

“I’m not sure how to answer this question. Is this a trick? I feel like it’s a trick.”

“No, really. What would you really want to do? We’re out here, and we’re staying. Now, what do you want to do?”

Merlin looked at Arthur searchingly, as if he wasn’t quite sure if this was a trap of some sort. 

“Well,” he said, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “I wouldn’t say no to a bath in the river.”

It only took a moment’s thought to make the decision and Arthur descended from his horse with Merlin’s wide eyes following him. 

“This seems like a good place to camp,” Arthur said, loosening the saddle of his horse and brushing his other hand through the mane. “Nice breeze. Water if anyone fancies a swim.”

Merlin stayed atop his horse, hands coming to rest on the saddle, still clutching the reins. “It’s still light. It’s going to be light for a while.”

Scratching along his horse’s neck, Arthur remained silent for a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand. 

“This trip isn’t for any duties. We don’t have anywhere we need to be any time soon. I like this spot.” Arthur hesitated. “You like this spot.”

There was rustling and he looked over to see Merlin swinging his leg over the horse’s back, climbing down with nothing that resembles grace. He more or less fell off, but covered it up with a disarming grin. Arthur held out his hand and Merlin looked at it, confused. Realising what it looked like, Arthur’s cheeks went hot and he squared his jaw, reaching out to grab the reins from Merlin’s hand. 

“Oh,” Merlin said, and Arthur paused, meeting his gaze. 

Something strange tied itself into a knot in his stomach, making his skin feel prickly. He cleared his throat. 

“I’ll take care of the horses if you’ll set up camp and find some firewood.”

“Don’t get lost.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “While feeding the horses?”

“Never know with you. I might have to save you again.”

Arthur snorted so violently it nearly hurt. “Of course. I’ll try not to need your eminent saving skills.”

“You say that, but every time I turn around you’ve managed to get knocked out.”

Pulling the horses along, Arthur pointedly ignored him. He found a spot for them at the edge of the clearing not too far from where Merlin was preparing their camp, and took care in tying them both to a nearby tree. There had always been something comforting in caring for the horses. While they were yet another living thing dependent on his care, they were much easier to please than people. 

He took off their saddles and let his hands run over their flanks. The sun was hot on his neck, more intense than it had been in a long time. The long, cold winter that had seemed to last forever was almost difficult to recall as his skin burned. 

He left the horses with enough food and water to last them the rest of the night, and walked towards the camp. Merlin was assembling a small fire – just enough to prepare a meal and to keep them comfortable when the sun went down. Arthur moved over, crouching down next to the wood. 

“Let’s leave it unlit for now,” Merlin said, putting the last piece in place. “Save it for my masterful meal. We wouldn’t want to miss _that_. It’s bound to be the best meal you’ve ever had.”

Arthur hummed, stretching out his legs. 

“Arthur?”

He looked up questioningly, waiting for Merlin to continue. Merlin met his gaze, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile. 

“I do like being here. I might not enjoy hunting much, but I like this. I like it when we get away.”

Arthur’s lips pulled into a smile that only kept growing until he could feel his cheeks ache and his eyes narrow, corners crinkling. He knew he looked ridiculous, because Merlin’s beaming expression was ridiculous too. But it was also perfect and disorienting and it made Arthur want to cup his neck and lean in to taste it. 

Before he could shake off that thought enough to reply, Merlin had pushed to his feet and reached his arms above his head. He groaned, getting up on his toes as he stretched the muscles in his back. 

“I really need that swim,” Merlin said, fingers pulling the knot in his neckerchief loose. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this. Sometimes when my toes were so freezing I thought they’d go black and fall off, I’d think of nothing but this.” 

Arthur followed the movement of his fingers with his eyes, wetting his lips when the neckerchief fell away and he could see every pale inch of Merlin’s neck. 

“I thought about the grass,” Arthur said, voice sounding distant to his own ears. “Green and fresh.”

Merlin looked at him and smiled, then continued to get undressed as if they weren’t in the middle of a conversation. Arthur’s breath got stuck in his throat when Merlin pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it near the opening of the tent. He didn’t know where to keep his eyes. They wanted to go everywhere at once, but every single spot he landed on felt wrong and invasive. 

He looked away, biting into his lower lip. It was no use. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the jut of Merlin’s hipbones over the breeches that nearly fell off of him. Bending his head, he plucked at the grass, oddly and intensely aware of the fact that Merlin was getting undressed only steps away from him. 

He didn’t know if it was better to not see, because his mind was running away from him. He could only think of his hands gliding across Merlin’s skin, brushing over the hip bone, his fingers moving over the trail of hair disappearing into Merlin’s breeches. His fingers twisted into the grass and he plucked it with a sharp tug. 

The sound of rustling water took him by surprise and before he could stop himself he looked up, squinted against the sun and found Merlin knee-deep in the river. He was completely nude, shimmering water pooling around his knees, with his back turned. The swell of his arse was clearly visible and Arthur’s fingers twisted into the grass so hard it hurt a little. 

He watched, too selfish to do anything else. Merlin waded further into the water, his arse disappearing under the waterline before long, and Arthur felt embarrassingly mournful about it. But he could still see the defined back and the angles of his shoulder blades as Merlin skated his hands over the surface. 

The longer Arthur looked, the less he worried. Perhaps he was being inappropriate, perhaps he was being selfish, but if there was ever a time where he could be, this was it. This wasn’t a trip that had anything to do with official royal duties. This was as private as Arthur’s moments got, unless he was entirely alone, and even then they never seemed to be quite private enough. 

The sound of rippling water was the only thing Arthur could hear as Merlin ducked under, and then reappeared, moving slowly and fluidly. With every moment that passed, Arthur relaxed, stretched his legs out and breathed deep. 

He was hard, but it wasn’t an urgent, overpowering need. It was a low hum of arousal, curling pleasantly in his gut. It warmed him from the inside out, spreading upwards and downwards, into every cold crevice. In that moment, watching and enjoying felt uncomplicated, and just enough to scratch the itch.

But then the water rippled and Merlin rose from it, droplets clinging to the tips of his hair before sliding down his forehead, over the dips of his cheekbones, down his neck, over the muscles in his chest. Arthur stopped breathing for a moment as he realised that Merlin was wading out of the water, and that the waterline was slowly creeping downwards. 

His cheeks flushed hot when Merlin waded up to the shore. Merlin was half-hard, his cock moving with every step he took up to the bed of the river. The heat in Arthur’s cheeks spread to his chest, making every breath feel laboured. He was glad he’d never seen this sight before, because he wasn’t sure he would have survived it.

He wasn’t sure he was going to survive it now. 

Merlin’s skin was wet, glistening under the sunlight as he moved, and Arthur couldn’t look away – couldn’t find the reasons to stop, even though he knew they existed. He had uncountable reasons not to let himself drown in this, but they had all evaporated under the sun. 

He planned to push it all away, lock it in and merely revisit it when the time was right, but as Merlin came towards him, the details of his body becoming sharper, he found the tight grip on his control slipping. It was like trying to hold water in his hands and have it trickle between his fingers like it slid over the pale stretch of Merlin’s skin. 

When Merlin passed next to him to get to the clothes he’d discarded, Arthur reached out a hand and curled it around Merlin’s wrist. Merlin stopped and looked at him, his expression open and surprised.

“I—” Arthur’s words got stuck somewhere, or he’d never had them in the first place. Instead of continuing, he let his thumb brush softly over the thin skin of Merlin’s wrist. 

Merlin gave a small smile – quiet and a little indulgent. 

Arthur released his grip on the wrist, letting his fingers skim over the back of Merlin’s hand. As Merlin watched him, eyes wide, he cupped Merlin’s hand in his, leaned in and pressed a dry kiss to his knuckles. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, breath uneven. “What—?”

“I don’t know.”

Merlin swallowed noticeably. “All right.” He eased his hand out of Arthur’s grip and pressed the pad of his thumb to Arthur’s bottom lip. Pushing down slightly, he parted Arthur’s lips as he ran his thumb across the bow of his mouth. 

It was like Arthur had received a blow to the head. His thoughts were cloudy and air seemed knocked out of him. Everything in the world narrowed down to the touch of Merlin’s finger on his lips. It was real and tangible, and so much better than just another figment of his imagination. 

Arthur gave in. 

He cupped the back of Merlin’s head and pulled him down as he rose up, mashing their lips together all too forcefully. Their noses bumped and Arthur let out a frustrated noise, the angle too awkward to slot their lips together properly. But Merlin’s mouth was still unbelievably hot on his, and undeniably real. 

He clawed at the back of Merlin’s neck, frustrated. Merlin exhaled against his lips, and Arthur could have sworn it was a huff of laughter. He didn’t have time to pull back to glare at him for it, because Merlin braced his hands against his shoulders, pushed him down on his back and climbed on top of him in the span of a moment. 

The grass prickled against his scalp and Merlin was a warm, solid weight on him, his lips coaxing Arthur’s open. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s back, reminded of Merlin’s complete lack of clothing as his hands splayed out over the naked skin. Merlin cupped his face in his hands, fingertips pressing lightly at his jaw, as he eased the kiss into something slower. 

Tight tension unfurled in Arthur’s stomach at the easy touch of Merlin’s mouth, the glide of their lips unhurried and warm. He couldn’t stop moving his fingers over Merlin’s back, needing the softness of it. The muscles shifted under his touch as Merlin moved and he could almost _feel_ blood rushing with life underneath. 

He was nearly numb with indecision. He’d wanted and needed for so long that he had no idea what to do, or where to begin, or how to make this something Merlin might want as much as he did. Just having the weight of Merlin pushing him down, fingers splayed on his cheek, his jaw and his neck, was making his cheeks flush hot and his heart beat oddly. 

Letting his hands follow the contours of Merlin’s back, Arthur flicked the tip of his tongue into Merlin’s mouth, just enough to brush against Merlin’s. Merlin moaned quietly into the kiss, moving his hips ever so slightly so the hardness of him brushed along Arthur’s stomach. 

Arthur pressed his hand to the swell of Merlin’s arse, using his hold to pull Merlin closer. He licked the needy whimper from Merlin’s tongue, letting it fill his chest. 

He was disoriented when Merlin broke the kiss and leaned his cheek against Arthur’s. For a moment they lay completely still, their chests rising and falling in sync. 

“Don’t undress until I’m back,” Merlin said, and breath fanned over Arthur’s cheek, before he placed his palms on Arthur’s chest and pushed himself up. 

Merlin’s cock was harder than before, curving up towards his stomach as he stepped over Arthur to get to their discarded backpacks. Arthur watched him go, following the way the muscles in his arse worked and the ripple of movement in his thighs. 

“Why not?” Arthur asked, his voice a little broken. 

Merlin looked briefly over his shoulder before hunching down beside his backpack. “Because it’s my favourite part of being your servant.”

Arthur inhaled sharply, part of his inhibitions returning at the reminder of their stations. God, he was taking advantage of his own servant, just like those indulgent, unsettling lords he’d always abhorred. 

“And I’ve been waiting for this. I want to undress you, just as myself, not as your servant.” Merlin rose to his feet, his hand clutching a small vial. He walked slowly towards Arthur, giving him plenty of time to look his fill. “I want you to want me to undress you.”

Arthur met his eyes and held his gaze as Merlin dropped down to his knees next to him. 

“I want you to.” The words were foreign as his lips curled around them. It was a combination of words he’d never let out of his head. 

After putting the vial in the grass by Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin gave him a crooked smile as he splayed his hand over Arthur’s stomach and pressed down slightly. Arthur arched into it, wanting Merlin to dig his fingers into his flesh, to give him bruises and leave angry red marks with his nails. 

The teasing little touches as Merlin undressed him, slowly and purposefully, were driving him mad. Merlin’s fingers were deft and practiced, but they lingered more than usual, skimming and brushing over his skin in such fleeting touches that Arthur wanted to chase them. He held himself back, muscles twitching with the effort, as Merlin pushed his breeches down his legs. 

Merlin grinned at him and bit into his lower lip for a moment as he watched Arthur’s cock, curved upwards into the hem of his shirt. In one swift movement that took Arthur by surprise, he climbed astride him, trapping Arthur’s cock between them. 

Arthur turned his head to the side, a breathy moan punched out of him as he pressed up into the weight settled on his hips. Merlin braced himself on his chest, lips falling open, and then he rolled his hips. Closing his eyes, Arthur reached out blindly, grabbed at Merlin’s thighs and dug his fingers into the flesh. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, quiet. 

All patience, worry and indecision disappeared when Arthur opened his eyes and saw Merlin’s slack-jawed expression. He surged up, wrapped his arms around Merlin’s back, and pushed his face into Merlin’s neck. Under the scent of the open outdoors, the sun and the river, Merlin smelled like himself, only much more potent, and Arthur groaned his name into the skin, placing wet kisses along it. 

Merlin clawed at his shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist and dragged it up over Arthur’s head. He got stuck in it for a moment, until Merlin finally managed to free him. Merlin smoothed down his hair as he threw the shirt aside and curled his fingers as Arthur licked a path along his neck. 

The pressure against his scalp made his skin tingle, and he let out a weak moan against the hollow of Merlin’s throat, his lips pushing open-mouthed kisses to it. He took a moment to just breathe, filling his lungs with the scent of them. 

When Merlin shifted his weight, they tipped backwards, Arthur splayed out on his back again with Merlin pressing him down with both hands to his chest. He let them skim down, slowly, over the jumping muscles in Arthur’s stomach. 

As Merlin reached a hand between them and brushed two fingers along the shaft of Arthur’s cock, Arthur shifted under him, unable to keep still under the feeling that settled in his gut. Merlin’s eyes were measuring, keenly watching every expression on his face, and Arthur looked back.

Merlin was breathtaking as he licked a wet stripe along his palm and wrapped a firm hand around Arthur’s cock with a cheeky grin, ducking his head to watch it jump under his touch. The angles of his face were sharp and shadowed in the brightness of the day, and there was a flush rising in his cheeks. 

Arthur had put that swollen-red colour on his lips. Arthur had put the angry red mark at the hollow of his throat. His mouth felt suddenly dry and he licked his lips, hitching his hips into Merlin’s hand, overwhelmed.

Merlin seemed unable to focus on anything but his hand gliding along the length of Arthur’s cock, as if he’d never wanted to see anything so much before in his life. And the Gods knew that Arthur was grateful for the steady pressure of Merlin’s fingers around him, but he needed more of this before he lost his control much too soon. 

He scrambled for the vial by his shoulder, twisting his upper body to get to it and pushed it at Merlin, his hand shaking. Merlin paused and looked at him, eyes unfocused and cheeks burning red. Then he smiled. It was so blinding and full of intent that it made Arthur’s throat constrict. He swallowed. 

Merlin picked the vial carefully out of his hand and moved to sit more comfortably astride Arthur’s waist. He steadied his knees in the grass on either side of him as he fumbled with the cork, pouring oil onto his right hand, some of it slipping over them and dripping onto Arthur’s stomach.

Steadying himself against Arthur with his left hand, Merlin reached the other between his legs. Arthur couldn’t see when the finger slipped into him, but he saw Merlin’s eyes flutter shut and his lips part. Hanging his head, Merlin let out a shuddering moan that made Arthur’s spine turn to liquid. 

His heart beat loudly in his ears as he watched Merlin’s hand move between his legs, his cock bouncing against his stomach. The flush in Merlin’s cheeks spread down his neck when he began to rock down onto his hand with steady rolls of his hips. Arthur could watch it for an eternity, and yet he couldn’t watch for another moment longer.

He dipped his finger into the pool of oil on his stomach, coating it as thoroughly as he could. 

“Come here,” he said, not recognising his own voice. 

Merlin inched further up on his stomach, until Arthur could run his hand along Merlin’s to find the place where his fingers pressed into himself. He looked up at Merlin, catching his gaze and held it for a moment as he ran his finger along the rim. Merlin’s thighs shook when Arthur’s finger pressed in easily, gliding alongside Merlin’s own. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Merlin said, bending his head as his entire body trembled. 

A breath in, and another breath out – it was all Arthur tried to focus on instead of the incredible tight heat around his finger. He bit into his lip and thrust into Merlin’s body, watching greedily as Merlin arched up and rocked down again, whimpering. 

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this, but whatever it was, he’d do it a thousand times over. 

Batting Merlin’s hand away, he pushed another finger into the slick heat, letting Merlin buck against him, his fingers pressing into Arthur’s stomach. He watched, mesmerized, as Merlin pressed his lips together, giving a strangled moan. 

“Merlin,” he said, voice hoarse. “I can’t—”

“Yeah.” The word was almost more an exhale of breath than speech. 

Merlin eased himself off Arthur’s fingers, scooting backwards. It left Arthur feeling empty, wanting the closeness back, wanting to bury his fingers in Merlin’s arse until tears leaked out of his eyes. Arthur curled his hand into a fist, two of his fingers slick with oil. 

He shuddered when Merlin gripped the base of his cock, knees bracketing Arthur’s hips as he hovered above him, body lean and all perfect angles. Arthur’s skin burned when the head of his cock brushed against the rim, overwhelming need building inside him until his hands shook and he buried them in the grass to keep them still. 

Merlin sank down on him, thighs trembling as Arthur’s cock spread him open. He was tight and slick and hot, making Arthur’s cock throb. Trying to keep control of his hips, Arthur threw his head back until his shoulders arched off the ground and a long, deep moan rumbled in his chest.

Merlin’s hands shook as they gripped at him for purchase, nails sharp against his skin just like Arthur wanted them to be. He wanted the marks on him, he needed them to be there, to know Merlin put them there. 

“Ah, I—Holy—” Merlin began circling his hips, and Arthur opened his eyes to see his brows furrowed in concentration, his wet lips parted around his laboured breath. 

The little movements of his hips sent sparks of pleasure along Arthur’s spine, made his heart race. And then his heart almost came to a full stop when Merlin really moved, pushing himself up and sinking down again. The hot slide of his cock in the slick hold of Merlin’s arse had his eyes rolling back into his head. 

Arthur reached out blindly, gripped at Merlin’s thighs and dug his fingers into the flesh, too hard. He knew it would bruise and he was almost ashamed at how the thought made him feel hotter. 

Little gasps fell from Merlin’s lips as he took Arthur’s cock, the speed of his movements steadily increasing. Arthur’s hands slid to the back of his thighs, pressed into the flesh where the swell of his arse began, and helped the motion of Merlin’s hips. He lost himself in the feeling of it, never wanting to be anywhere but buried deep inside Merlin’s arse. 

The slick sounds of their skin could be heard over the rustling of leaves, and the rush of the river, and Arthur loved it. It was filthy in a way that made his gut burn with arousal. 

He loosened his grip on Merlin’s thigh when Merlin pushed himself up and shifted his weight, changing the angle entirely. They both moaned, and Merlin bent backwards, his hands pressed to Arthur’s thighs to support himself. 

God. 

Arthur thrust up into the perfect heat of him, and watched as Merlin’s head fell back and his cock bounced against his stomach—hard, thick and gorgeous. The sun hit the sharp lines of his neck and his collarbone, illuminating him like something sacred, like something Arthur had only heard of in stories. 

He ran his hands up Merlin’s side, bracketing his waist as he pressed up into their rhythm, his cock spreading Merlin open over and over again. Merlin whined, forcing his head up to look at Arthur. He looked wrecked, he looked ruined, so full of bliss that it hurt. 

It was gorgeous. It was the most breathtaking thing Arthur had seen, his cock going deep into Merlin again, forcing a sweet moan from his lips. Merlin’s cock was dark against his stomach, hard and leaking onto his skin. Arthur watched it, transfixed. 

Tentatively, he ran his hand down, over the jut of Merlin’s hip bone, to close his hand around his cock. He grasped it, mesmerized by the silkiness of it in his hand, and the hardness beneath as he tugged. He was unprepared for the sob that came, and he looked up to see Merlin’s entire body spasm. 

“Sh,” he said, brushing his thumb over the head. “It’s all right.”

Merlin became frantic, pushing down on his cock erratically. Little _uh_ s of pleasure were forced out of Merlin’s throat, his cock leaking over Arthur’s fingers, making the slide easy. 

He’d wanted this. Sometimes he’d even wondered why he wanted this so much, if he wanted something that he’d merely exaggerated in his head. He had tried to convince himself that there were many things more important than this.

There was nothing more important than this. 

He wanted it more than ever. He wanted it to never end, and to always be there, wanted to learn how to break Merlin in a single moment and with a single word. He wanted to be broken and put back together under Merlin’s steady fingers. 

“Arth—” Merlin arched his back, word dying on his lips, and he shook, nails digging into Arthur’s thighs. 

Merlin’s mouth was open, breath rushing out of him as he went completely silent, twitched, trembled, spilled over Arthur’s stomach. Merlin was nearly limp as Arthur pushed into him, barely holding himself up. 

It was too much for the little ounce of control Arthur had. The grip on his cock had become even tighter as Merlin’s muscles tensed, and the pressure coiled tight in his gut. He held Merlin in a tight grip and flipped them over, pressing Merlin into the grass. Merlin gave a feeble moan, his legs wrapping loosely around Arthur’s hips. 

Arthur buried himself as deep as he could, and pressed his face into Merlin’s shoulder. He breathed against Merlin’s skin, too shallow and too quick. Rolling his hips in long, deep thrusts, the pressure built until he felt like he was no longer held together. He was in pieces, scattered in the grass. 

Merlin’s fingers entwined in his hair, running along his scalp in soothing circles and he hid his face into Merlin’s neck while he let out a string of deep moans. It hit him like the force of a blade, his hips stuttering before he buried his cock deep, emptying himself inside. 

As Arthur went limp, there was nothing to be heard but the rustling of leaves, the rush of the river, and Merlin’s quiet breath in his ear. Arthur rubbed his cheek against Merlin’s and sighed against his skin. Fatigue took him over, as if he’d just come home from battle, or long negotiations. He almost laughed, wondering what Merlin would say if he knew what he’d just been compared to. 

Arthur pushed himself up to relieve Merlin of the crushing weight of him, leaning onto his elbows placed on either side of Merlin’s head. A little discontented sound came from Merlin as Arthur pulled away, but when Arthur smiled down at him, Merlin smiled too. Merlin smiled with his entire face, beaming up at him in a way that made Arthur dip his head and press a kiss to his lips. 

“Is this why you’ve taken me hunting so many times?” Merlin said, laughing against his lips. “You’ve always been shit at it, I should’ve known it was just a ploy all al— _Arthur_. Arthur, don’t—”

Merlin’s laughter was loud in the stillness of the clearing.

***

Merlin’s face illuminated by dancing flames was a familiar sight, yet something about it looked different. Perhaps it was because he knew the taste of Merlin’s lips and the sweat on his skin, and he knew the look on it when Arthur was buried deep within him. There was a line drawn between knowing and not knowing these things, and yet, his feelings about Merlin were the same at the core of it.

Arthur stretched out over his bedroll, enjoying the heat of the fire. The smoke from it curled up towards the clear night sky. The corner of Merlin’s bedroll was touching his, but Merlin was sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, still scraping his bowl for the last bit of stew. 

“So, are we going back tomorrow or are we heading on?” Merlin said and put his bowl aside. 

Arthur looked up. The sky was clear, stars bright and plentiful. 

“I think we should be back by tomorrow night. We probably shouldn’t be gone too long.” 

At the moment, there was no part of him that wanted to go back, because right now it was only him, Merlin, and the quiet of the forest. He didn’t know what was going to happen when they returned to the castle. He feared that everything would slip back into the way it had been. A tumble in the grass didn’t mean that Merlin even wanted anything else. 

Merlin lay down on his side, tucking his knees up against his stomach. He was so close now that it would take nothing for Arthur to lean in and press a kiss to his lips. 

“Are you worried about Morgana?” Merlin asked.

Arthur considered it. “Yes and no.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, lip curling in amusement. 

“I think Camelot can withstand an attack even without me, although I would not want to be away if she does strike. There are other things about her that worry me more.”

“She’s your sister. You’re still allowed to worry about her.”

Arthur sighed, picking at the fabric of his breeches. There were things he probably shouldn’t say – things that were much too soon to say, perhaps. And yet, it seemed uncomplicated around the crackling fire when Merlin was watching him so earnestly. 

“Morgana’s strongest weapon is that she’s my sister. She knows everything about me. Sometimes I confided in her, but most of the time I didn’t even need to. She’ll know where her blow would hurt the most.”

“She wants the crown—your people.”

“Merlin,” Arthur said. He paused for a moment, forcing himself to meet Merlin’s eyes. “She’d go for you. She’s already figured it out. Hell, she’s gone down that route before.”

Merlin’s eyes were wide, and he knew he had already said too much, but he still said, “I couldn’t bear it,” his voice brittle. 

His heart beat painfully in his chest when Merlin pushed himself up. He didn’t know what to expect. There was a sharp prickle of relief when Merlin stepped towards him and dropped to his knees. He crawled into the space between Arthur and the fire, and Arthur made room for him, letting his arms wrap around Merlin’s back. 

He buried his face into Merlin’s neck, the uncertainty in him letting go. 

“I won’t let her hurt you,” Merlin said, voice hushed. “And if that means not letting her get to me, then she will _never_ get to me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Listen, stupid.” Merlin pulled back until he could look into Arthur’s eyes. “You talked about Morgana’s biggest weapon, but you didn’t talk about yours. And it’s not your crown, or your skills with a sword. Loving someone is not your weakness, it’s your strength.”

“Merlin—”

“You won’t let anything happen to your people, to Camelot or to me. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Arthur looked at him in silence for a moment. 

“I care about my people,” Arthur said, the pressure in his chest heavy. “But that’s not… You’re different.”

“I know.” Merlin gave a small huff of laughter. “You’re different too. Arthur, why do you think I’m still here after all this time?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you love polishing my armour?”

“Let’s just say it’s definitely not that.”

Arthur grinned, pressing his cheek to Merlin’s as warmth spread to the tip of his toes.

***

The sun was setting over Camelot as it came into view, magnificent as it had always been. Arthur pulled on the reins, pausing at the sight and took a breath that was full of awe. Part of him never quite got over that Camelot was his, that Camelot was a part of him and he of it. In the time after his father’s death, he’d nearly forgotten the warmth that bloomed in his chest because of Camelot. He’d nearly let himself leave behind a part of him that he’d never imagined he’d lose.

He almost expected the crushing weight of burden to fall back on his shoulder as he signalled the horse into movement again. With the sight of Camelot came the burden of his responsibilities, but it weighed much less than he remembered. He could still breathe. He could still stand without his knees buckling. 

Merlin turned around as he realised that Arthur had fallen behind, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fairly sure it would cause an uproar if I came back without the king.”

“Calm down, Merlin, I won’t let them hang you. It’d be the stocks at worst.”

“Very comforting.”

Arthur grinned to himself as he pressed his heels into his horse to catch up. Up ahead, Merlin’s slender frame in blue was outlined against the light walls of Camelot in the distance. Arthur was home.


End file.
